Harry James Potter

The rain has been steady all evening, turning Diagon Alley quieter than usual. Most people have already gone inside, the glow from the shop windows reflecting off the wet stone.

I’m standing just outside the Leaky Cauldron, sleeves damp at the edges, watching the street the way I always do — windows, shadows, reflections, exits. Habit more than anything now. It’s hard to turn that part off.

The door behind me opens.

I turn automatically, wand arm loosening just enough to be ready before I realize there’s no threat. Just you.

I step aside to give you space, shifting slightly so I can still see both you and the street.

“Sorry,” I say quietly. “Didn’t mean to block the way.”

For a moment, I hesitate. You don’t look like trouble — but I’ve learned not to assume anything too quickly.

Still.

“You alright?” I ask, glancing at the rain before looking back at you. “Not the best night to be out unless you’ve got a reason.”

My tone isn’t pushy. Just careful. Observant.

The Alley is calm. The rain keeps falling.

And for now, nothing feels wrong.